


Serendipity

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Kings of Nowhere [5]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- GTA V, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Pre-Fake AH Crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 18:23:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12563432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Ryan's not big on things like fate, but even he has to admit there has to be something to it when he just happens to keep running into the Golden Boy.





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> For Miss-Ingno who asked for Ryan and Gavin being impressed impressed by the tales they've heard about each other being stuck somewhere together where they swap stories that's just thinly veiled flirting. :D????

Ryan's got a bullet in his shoulder from a job that went pear-shaped on him. Bad information and shady employers and he'll deal with all of that later, but now - 

There are places like this free clinic all around Los Santos. Doctors and people with the medical know-how to fix people like him up, so long as they play by the rules. 

Simple rules, really.

Don't kill the person patching you up or their assistants because that's just being rude, and don't go snitching on them to the to the cops. Not when they're running a legitimate free clinic in an area that desperately needs it because the city of Los Santos doesn't give a damn about the people down here.

Ryan's been coming here for a while now, gotten to know the doctors and nurses who are always overworked and understaffed. Quietly funneled some money into keeping the place running since they've been kind enough to keep him alive for a few years now.

He likes the people here, their quiet efficiency and no-nonsense approach to things.

More than that, he trusts them. 

So when a tiny five foot nothing volunteer had rushes into the room while he's getting fixed up and spits out has to be some kind of code, Ryan doesn't immediately think _trap_ , no.

Not when the doctor curse, low and vicious and tells Ryan not to do anything that would tear his stitches until they can finish up as they slap bandages on his shoulder. Orders the volunteer to get Ryan somewhere safe until things blow over, and Ryan goes along with it. 

Doesn't question any of it at the time because there's something about the doctor's demeanor that say they're used to dealing with this. That it's an ongoing situation and not some unexpected surprise. Annoyance, yes, but no real fear or worry. 

The kid takes Ryan through a confusing maze of hallways until they reach what looks like a break room. Sink on one wall with cabinets over it, and a counter covered in small appliances, half-empty jars of peanut butter and jams and just an overall disaster.

The kid walks over to the wall with row of lockers against it and shoves them aside to reveal a grate set in the wall. 

“What - “

“It's where we put the bad and naughty patients, but for you it's a hidey hole,” the kid says, unscrewing the bolts that hold the grate in place and pulling it aside.

Ryan stares this kid down when he looks up at Ryan, but he's completely unfazed. Just waits patiently until Ryan sighs and crawls through the grate.

There's a decent-sized room on the other side. Little dusty maybe, and it would be dark as hell if there weren't small lighting panels along the floorboards. There's bottled water and a half empty case of energy bars on a stack of boxes, proof enough that it's a space that sees frequent use.

He looks back at the kid and gets a wolfish little smile, teeth behind it as the kid fits the grate back in place.

“Someone will be by to get you when the cops clear out.”

And so Ryan settles down against the wall facing the grate and waits and waits and waits.

Hears people moving around, low, hushed conversations, and picks up bits and pieces. 

Learns the cops do this on the regular. Stop by places like this hoping to find evidence they're harboring fugitives within their walls, to round up petty criminals and people like Ryan who get hurt on the job and can't afford to go to a hospital that plays by the rules and keeps meticulous records. 

He sits there in that dim little room, gun a heavy weight at his side because as much as he's tempted to crawl out of that little hole in the wall and deal with the cops, he knows it wouldn't be worth it. Would make things worse for the people here, make the cops realize they're on to something if the Vagabond's willing to make a statement like that. Have them come down here in armored vehicles and loaded for bear instead of a couple of patrol and uniformed officers. 

The inaction's killing him a little, listening to the staff talking in the other room. Knowing this has been going on for a long, long time and oblivious to all of it. 

Because, and this is a thing, he knows the breed of people who tend to gravitate to the LSPD.

There are a few decent ones in there, too dumb to realize they're fighting a losing war here in Los Santos but still determined to go out there and make the city a better place for the people here. But for the most part, it's the angry, bitter ones who end up behind a badge. Mean, petty assholes who figure out early on how to bend the rules just enough to toe the line.

Half an hour in, he hears voices on the other side of the wall, head cocked as he recognizes the volunteer that had put him in here, and another one he wasn't expecting gets a helping shove into the room.

“But Jeremy - “

“'But Jeremy', nothing. Now stay here and try not to antagonize your roomie too much. You're pushing your luck enough as it is, wandering around like this. The cops will be gone when they get bored.”

The Golden Boy straightens up at that, turning to see who the kid – Jeremy? - was talking about, and -

“Well, well, well,” the Golden Boy says voice pitched low, and oddly enough he seems to relax when he sees Ryan in full Vagabond gear.

Not really the normal reaction to someone coming upon him in the dark, but Ramsey's Golden Boy is hardly normal, now is he?

“Fancy meeting you here, Vagabond.”

There's a healthy amount of respect in his voice, which is a nice change of events. Most people tend to look down on him, think he's just brainless muscle hired to get his hands dirty while they stay nice and pristine up in those shining towers of theirs.

Ryan doesn't say anything, just watches as he paces the edges of the room. Skimming a finger along the top of a table and making a face at the dust he finds, as if someone's going to be in regularly to clean the hidden room.

Cocks his head when he stops in front of Ryan, taking in the bandages on his shoulder and makes a low noise of sympathy.

“Looks like it hurts,” he says, sliding down the wall beside Ryan, wrists coming to rest on his knees, head tipped back against the wall. 

There's a little flash of white peeking out from the collar of his shirt, some injury or other he must have come here to get looked at. Got caught up in this mess with the cops and shuffled here to wait it out with Ryan.

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Little bit, yeah.”

The Golden Boy snorts, turning his head to study Ryan. Eyes moving over the mask, squinting a little in the dark like he really thinks he could make out Ryan's face under it, even with the face paint.

“Seems like we're going to be here a while,” he says, making an effort to keep his voice light. “Might as well get to know one another, yeah?”

And, see.

Ryan's worked for the Fakes in the past.

He's met Ramsey and that formiddable second of his in Patillo, taken a job from them once or twice. Gotten a feel for how Mogar works, a lot of anger in him, sure, but nothing like what the rumors say. He knows Brownman from a long time back, run-ins and bad timing and the two of them being thrown together thanks to shitty circumstances.

But the Golden Boy?

He wasn't around then.

The ghost of him, sure.

All the places he should have fit with the crew when Ryan took jobs with them, the way they looked to where he should have been. Jokes falling flat like they were expecting someone to pick up the thread, keep it going.

Ryan's heard about the Golden Boy. From the Fakes themselves or whatever rumor's floating around the city when the Fakes pull something new. When the Golden Boy does something to catch the city's attention.

He's got a pretty face to look and is dangerous as hell, even without his crew at his back. The history behind him that so many in this city forget about.

Smart, _clever_ , and rumor has it Ramsey stole him from the Roosters. Plucked him right out of their hands and brought him out here to Los Santos, and the Fake AH Crew has been on the rise ever since.

This kid with a silver tongue and sharp, twisty mind that few people could hope to keep up with when he really got going. Penchant for mischief and a lot more to him than you'd expect just looking at him. 

And now he's in Los Santos for good. Working with people like Ramsey and the Fakes and doing a damn good job of bringing the city to heel for them, and Ryan's not going to lie. 

He's _fascinated_.

It seems to be mutual, the way the Golden Boy's watching him.

“Geoff tells me you're good at what you do,” the Golden Boy says, something expectant in his voice, and Ryan - 

“Well, I mean,” Ryan says, “I'd hate to brag.”

The Golden Boy laughs, this quiet little thing, and he looks delighted as he listens to Ryan tell him about a few of the jobs he worked on with the Fakes.

Ridiculous plans that seemed doomed to failure that they made work, somehow. And from there he manages to get a story out of the Golden Boy who leans in closer when Ryan lowers his voice because it wouldn't be a good idea to be overheard in here, now would it?

========

It's not the only time Ryan runs into the Golden Boy over the next month or so, but it's certainly among the most memorable.

They happen to run into one another on the subway while Ryan's on his way back from a job. Stolen car a burning wreck a few miles back and swarmed by emergency response and a plethora of cops, and the Golden Boy - 

“You might want to get off a few stops from now,” he says, cheeky grin on his face as he gently pats the duffel bag on the seat next to him. “Just a suggestion, though.”

Ryan glances at him, at the ridiculous clothes he's wearing like he's trying to pass as a tourist. All hideous Hawaiian print shirt and Bermuda shorts and flip-flops under a floppy sunhat, and decides he really doesn't want to know.

(He does, though. He really, really does.)

“I'll keep that in mind, thanks,” Ryan says, and isn't surprised in the least when the Golden Boy laughs.

There's time before then, before whatever the Fakes are up to is set in motion, so they end up trading stories again. 

Old jobs and heist and what can only be termed exploits, and Ryan starts to get a better picture of how the Fakes work in a city like this.

Absolutely batshit crazy the lot of them, and lucky as hell to have survived the things they have.

And that fascination Ryan has for the Golden Boy?

May have turned into something a little more than that, which.

Not really a good idea in their line of work.

Sure, there are the ones who make it seem possible. The ones who get up and face what the city has to throw at them again and again and come up on the winning side, but Ryan's never been that lucky. 

Figures this is as good as it's going to get for him. Chance meetings and shared stories, shoulders brushing every so often and light touch on his shoulder when the Golden Boy leans over to poke him, demand if Ryan's laughing at him.

He is, and doesn't bother to deny it, and that just make the Golden Boy laugh harder.

It's a nice sound, really. Something Ryan wouldn't mind hearing more of someday.

========

There's something about Los Santos when it rains. Sky slipping from its usual brilliant blues to an ominous steel gray when the clouds roll in. 

The city goes quiet – well. 

Quieter, because there's always something going on in Los Santos. Always something that pulls the cops one way or another, lights flashing and sirens wailing as they race to the scene of the latest crime.

“Busy out today, isn't it,” a voice says at his elbow, something amused to it.

Ryan looks up, eyebrow raised because not just anyone who can sneak up on him, and he's right isn't he.

Ramsey's lauded Golden Boy, although he doesn't look much like that infamous figure at the moment. No designer label clothes or ridiculously expensive accessories to him. Just a well-worn hoodie and faded jeans. Battered sneakers that are well past their prime, and his hair is an absolute mess. Limp and lifeless, plastered to his skull from the rain.

He looks less like one of the most notorious criminals to reside in Los Santos and more like a half-drowned kitten, soft and sad and clutching his coffee in his hands like a lifeline. 

Probably got caught by surprise when the rainstorm started, and the cafe they're in is small and cramped and becoming more so as people seek shelter from the weather.

There are only a few open seats left, so it makes sense he'd make his way over to the little corner table Ryan's sitting at when one of them happens to be right across from him.

“You could say that,” Ryan says, pushing the empty char out with his foot at the hopeful look he gets. 

The gesture earns him a blinding smile and a quiet thanks, and Ryan's always been careful – he has to be, in this business – but it's an awfully nice smile, isn't it. 

All soft and almost shy. Sweet, really, and Ryan's already soft on him. Hearing his stories and the overwhelming fondness and affection in his voice when he talks about his crew. The way he lets his defenses down bit by bit - trusting Ryan with the pieces of himself he's offering up even though he has no reason to.

It's almost enough to make Ryan forget how dangerous he is, that he shouldn't know who the Vagabond is without his mask and face paint, but - 

He's _good_. 

It wouldn't really be that hard for someone of his skill and talent to figure out.

The Golden Boy watches another pair of police car speed past the window, corner of his mouth pulling up into something close to a smirk when he turns back to Ryan.

“Reminds me of that happened the other day,” he says, and spins a story that sounds astoundingly similar to that heist his crew pulled a week ago that involved cliché tourist outfits and a duffel bag of high explosives being transported on the subway for some inexplicable reason.

Ryan listens, aware of the Golden Boy watching for his every reaction and when he winds down, realizes nothing can be done because of course he knows exactly who Ryan is. 

Is watching Ryan with a crooked little smile on his face, waiting for him to make the next move, and Ryan?

He's thought about it, over the last little while.

He knows the odds, knows how something like this can break someone like him if it goes bad. Make him mean and cruel, lose himself to it because their lives are dangerous. Gets people killed again and again and again, and there are no guarantees for them. Always someone out there gunning for them, the notoriety it'll gain them for bringing down such well-known figures in Los Santos.

But.

The Golden Boy is dangerous in his own right, more so than most people give him credit for. Smart and clever and he's managed to thrive in a life that's beaten down so many before him. Has found himself a crew that would burn the world down for him, if he didn't beat them to it.

And there's something about this, too. The Golden Boy tracking him down to a quaint little cafe on day like this. Both of them dressed like anyone else in the city, casual clothes and average citizens who just happened to run into one another by chance. Nothing more to it, really, if they wanted that, so -

Ryan makes a choice, easier than most he's made in his life.

“I'm Ryan,” he says, and holds his hand out, smile playing at his mouth at the way the Golden Boy's smile lights up his face. “Nice to meet you.”


End file.
